


You’re one of us

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Animal Death, Blind Date, Bug Death, First Dates, Lepidopterology, M/M, Taxidermy, non-graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock and Jack have niche hobbies that make them perfect for each other.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 14





	You’re one of us

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings. The animal death is non-graphic but the bug on is more involved so if that’s a no-go for you, turn back now.
> 
> Thank you to the lovely Kalika999 for betaing this for me. ❤️
> 
> Title from One of Us by New Politics

With the autumnal colors blooming all around, there was nothing better than a stroll through Central Park. The air was crisp, not cold but not warm either, like the bite of an apple fresh off the tree. Birds were still calling, planning their migration south. Brock wished he could follow them but alas, he couldn’t. 

A jogger ran past him, the steady sound of her sneakers hitting the cement a momentary soundtrack to his walk. Brock paused a moment to admire the scenery, really breathe it all in, before cutting to the lower path and crouching down, his earthy green fleece blending in perfectly with the shrubbery. He’d been tracking this target for a long time now. His fingers were aching to spread it out, to pin it down and frame it forever. 

He adjusted his hold on the net as he saw it land, a red admiral looking as beautiful as ever. With a quick swish of his net he had it. The gratification brought a smile to his face, the whole day seeming even better than it had on the walk. He pinched it’s thorax between his middle and forefinger to stun it, minding its wings. A tear would render it useless in his collection and the butterfly’s death would be for naught. Plus, Brock would have to track down another one of the elusive butterflies. 

The butterfly stunned, he shouldered off his pack and put it into a specimen container so it wouldn’t get battered on the walk back to his apartment. It was a wonderful stroll back, the park buzzing with life, the smell of leaves and a hint of winter beneath it. A beautiful day indeed to catch something so beautiful. 

He took the stairs carefully, he didn’t want to rattle around his specimen.

The butterfly was still incapacitated and he carefully transferred it into a plastic bag that he rested in the freezer. This would allow him to skip the ‘relaxing’ stage and it would be ready to mount sooner. Brock was practically buzzing in anticipation. It would still take twenty four hours for his specimen to die but it was the most humane way. Its systems would start to shut down and it would just...go to sleep. Brock stepped back from the freezer with a small sigh of triumph and looked at the clock. It had taken more time than anticipated but that was just fine. It was worth it. 

He went to the living room to tidy up and paused to admire his collection. Not all were hand caught, like his shining glory: a perfectly preserved Bhutan glory shipped all the way from India. He’d come in a glassine envelope and Brock had meticulously gone through the relaxing stage and spent longer pinning than ever before. It was worth it and with his steady hand he had the beauty spread out in all its glory sitting on his wall. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Brock was a bit...consumed by his hobby. He was running low on wall space and had carefully padded totes stacked in the corner full of all the specimens he’d taken from his last apartment. 

Brock needed a house so he’d have ample space. But being a waiter didn’t exactly offer house buying money. Regardless of lack of space he would continue to practice his hobby. He was good at it and it made him happy. His nonna hadn’t liked when she caught him dabbling in it as a child. While Brock agreed that yes, it was too bad the insects had to die, it was for good reason. Brock was doing them a service, preserving them in all their beauty. And Brock would never apologize for it. He knew that people didn’t understand and would look down on it but their opinions meant nothing. He loved what he did and he wasn’t going to stop. 

** ** ** **

Jack accepted the package giddily. He knew what was inside: a present from himself for himself. He cut the tape and pulled out the little cooler. Packed on ice was a mallard duck, a basic animal in his area but he’d struggled to find someone with a license to kill it. Small creatures, like rodents, were easy to catch and kill but his current obsession, fowl, were a bit harder to capture and kill. It was also questionably legal. 

But he had the duck and he had to get busy. Jack had all his tools ready and the glass eyes he’d painstakingly chosen lying to his right as he sat down at his station. He carefully separated the feathers, making an incision from tail to head, hand slow and steady. Rushing meant a shoddy job and Jack was a firm believer in doing a good job the first time. Plus, if he let the feathers get wet they’d become sticky and a pain to work with. Jack added a bit of water to the innards and the skin, careful of the feathers. Jack began to roll the skin off the lower membranes (the duck was young, the lipids sparse) and towards the wings with the feathers before he removed the innards, setting them to his left. He clipped the neck, careful to ensure he didn’t cut the skin. After skinning the head Jack got to work removing the brain bit by bit. 

After removing the eyes, he peeled the skin around the legs, breaking the leg bones, making sure the leg skin was still connected to the rest of the skin. Jack smiled, the ease of falling into a pattern he knew was comforting, his own form of therapy. He repeated the process with the wings and then he began to peel down the back, well aware that this is the area that caused tears but he had a steady, practiced hand. Jack carefully snipped the tail and was ready to get into his favorite part: preservation. 

Jack made sure there was no meat connected to the skin and sprinkled it with cornstarch, borax, and non-iodized inside and outside of the body, and in its mouth because Jack thought the tongue looked neat and would look good on display. Then he washed the skin and wet the tail feathers so he could position them how he wanted to display it. He was almost disappointed to be done. He’d have to wait 72 hours until he could work on it further but that was okay. He liked the anticipation, keeping busy at work with fantasies of what animal he would do next and, should ever have the space, he wished he could taxidermy. There were endless possibilities of course but alas space was a hot commodity in New York City and only the wealthy could get their hands on it. 

His friends weren’t fans of his hobby, often remarking how ‘creepy’ it was. Jack laughed it off but it always stung that no one could see the beauty he did, the work he put in it to make them beautiful. The rational part of him reminded him that it didn’t matter what people thought. But emotions never obeyed reason. It would never stop hurting to see his friends cringe when they went into his apartment. To smile politely when Jack tried to talk about what he was working on next or trying to share the process with them to try and ease their discomfort. He tried to show them that it was art but they clearly disagreed. And no, that wouldn’t ever stop hurting. Even if he wished it would.

** ** ** **

Brock rubbed his hands together in anticipation and took the bag from the freezer. He gave a bit of time to thaw as he readied everything at his pinning desk. He had his spreading board ready and his pins prepped. He took his forceps to the butterfly giving the thorax a squeeze. The wings moved and he grinned: the butterfly was ready. 

He situated the butterfly and pierced a pin through the thorax to hold it steady before he began to pose the wings and antenna with pins around them. It was a slow, meticulous process but one that was well worth it. Getting both wings even was the biggest challenge but Brock was well versed, his fingers moved with memory and he got to look on with awe. When the butterfly was pinned he removed the pin through the thorax and used it with another one to make a little X over the abdomen so it didn’t curl. Then he sat back and admired his work. His eyes flickered to the wall and smiled down at the pinned butterfly. 

“You’ll join your friends soon.” 

Brock readied a frame even though it was a bit early. He went to his label maker and typed out it’s scientific name and it’s common name, placing it on the bottom. Brock was always listless when he finished pinning, feeling bored and useless. He soothed that by sitting on the couch and looking at his collection. He knew he wouldn’t be bored long, his friends were coming over and they were going out for drinks. Brock grabbed a shower and was doing his hair when he heard the knock. He let them in and went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. 

“You’re doing another one, huh?” Bucky said, trepidatiously. 

“Yeah it’s a red admiral. Isn't it beautiful?” 

“Uh, one could say it’d be beautiful alive too.” Steve said slowly. “But it’s...pretty.” 

Brock frowned. “It took me awhile to track it down. Black butterflies are pretty rare.” 

“No, it’s cool man,” Bucky said, hearing the hurt in Brock’s voice. “It’s your thing. You’re good at it I’m sure.” 

Brock liked to think he was but found himself doubting if Bucky really meant it. He took a deep breath and pushed away his insecurities. He shut off the light and stepped out of the bathroom. “I’m ready.” 

“Y’know,” Clint piped up, stepping away from the pinning desk. “I have a friend who’s into freaky shit like this.” 

“Clint,” Steve snapped. 

“Okay, okay, maybe he’s not my friend but he’s friends with Nat. Real creepy stuff, I bet you two would click.” 

Brock looked at his wall of butterflies and wondered how it constituted ‘creepy shit’. “Ignore him, he’s an idiot,” Steve said with a pitying smile.

Brock wished he had a friend who’d understand the art he created. So, without a single thought he said, “Sure. I’d like that Clint.” 

“Brock, we don’t think that it’s freaky,” Bucky lied. “It’s cool. We’re just jealous we can’t do it.” 

“Save it,” Brock sighed. “I need a drink anyway.” 

“I’ll get his number.” Clint said brightly. “I bet he’d dig your butterfly graveyard.” 

“Clint,” groaned Steve. 

“What?” 

“Ignore him,” Steve said again.

** ** ** **

Jack had his hand wrapped around a chai latte sitting across from his long time friend Natasha. She had been telling him about the case she was working on when her phone chirped. She looked at it and made a funny face. 

“Hey Jack,” she said slowly and Jack immediately tensed. 

The only time Natasha acted hesitant in any way was when she was trying to hook him up with someone. The last one was a disaster. Dinner went well and, at Natasha’s suggestion, he didn’t mention his favorite hobby instead sharing that he loved to read and watch classic movies. They had talked for hours and Jack began to think there could be something between them. He wasn’t thinking when he invited him up to his apartment for a cup of coffee but when he stepped aside and caught sight of the pigeon drying out, and Charlie, his very first taxidermied cat, he had called him a fucking psycho and had practially run. Natasha had apologized a million times over but the experience had stuck with him. 

“No.” 

“Hear me out,” Natasha said holding up her hand to stop his objections. “He’s into the same sorta stuff you’re into. Clint’s friends with him.” 

Jack held his coffee closer. “He likes taxidermy?”

“Well, he called him a bug murderer so something like that.” 

It rang a bell for Jack but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it. “Bugs are different from animals, Nat. I just… I don’t want a repeat. It’s… It’s embarrassing and it hurts, y’know?”

Her green eyes softened in understanding and she put her hand on his. “Clint seems to think this guy would really click with you. Your hobbies seem similar enough. What’s the harm?” 

“The risk of being treated like a monster.” 

“Okay, well, besides that.” 

“Natasha.” 

“Jack. You’re too handsome and smart and kind to be single. I’m sure Clint told him already. I’ll ask right now.” 

She typed for a moment and they waited in awkward silence. Jack’s gut was churning in nervousness. He wanted to refuse, wanted to avoid any possible heartache because it had taken him ages to brush off what happened and even now, months later, it still lingered. “He says yes. Well, he said ‘pretty much’ but that’s a yes.” 

Jack gulped. “I… I mean, if he knows then… I guess it’d be okay.” 

Natasha perked up. “Oh good. Don’t worry, you won’t have to raise a finger. I’ll do all the legwork. You just show up when I tell you to, okay?”

With a bad feeling settling in the bit of his stomach, he nodded. “Okay.” 

When he got home, he idled by the duck. He had another day left which meant he was able to get back to it after his date with some guy named Brock. So, assuming it went poorly, as he was fully expecting, he would have something to lift his spirits. And, if it didn’t, then it would be the cherry on top of a pleasant experience. But he knew better than to put too much hope into it. He’d come to the understanding that people like him didn’t really get happy ever afters. He wasn’t like normal people, he enjoyed the things everyone else shied from. Death didn’t frighten him, it intrigued him. And people genuinely didn’t understand that. It was shitty but it was life and Jack was used to it. 

** ** ** **

Brock had no idea what to wear. Clint had invited himself over, saying it was his girlfriend’s orders. “I don’t know what to wear,” Brock admitted fiddling. 

He looked at the red admiral hung on his wall to calm himself. Clint had helped himself to a bag of chips. “Clothes.” 

Brock threw him a dirty look and he sighed laboriously. 

“Wear pants and a shirt. Preferably the nice ones.” 

Brock was going to be mad but then he realized that this was Clint, the guy who was content with holey tees and stained sweats on the daily. So, alone he turned to his closet, trying to choose something. He settled on acid washed blue jeans and a dark long sleeved tee. It was casual, maybe too casual, but it was the best he could do. The restaurant wasn’t anything too fancy, Brock’s pocketbook couldn’t handle that, and Clint’s girlfriend, Natasha who he’d yet to meet, said Jack was in a similar financial category. That was a relief, Brock hated being out with someone who made more than him. Well, he hated it in general because everyone clammed up after Brock told them about his hobbies. Well first they asked what a lepidopterologist was and then they clammed up and tried to speed up to goodbye with an empty promise to call. There was no guarantee that this was going to be any different. ‘Creepy shit’ wasn’t exactly what he’d call what he was into but meeting another butterfly collector would have been incredible. 

Clint saw him to the cab and then waved as they drove off, no doubt texting his girlfriend that Brock was on his way. With anxiety weighing in his gut like lead he had no idea what to expect. He wanted to expect nothing but the best but he couldn’t, not with all the bad dates running a reel behind his eyes as he drove closer and closer to the restaurant and, probably, another disappointment. It was okay though, he reassured himself, he had his butterflies to come home to even if everything went down the drain. 

** ** ** **

Jack sat nervously at the table. It was a mom and pop diner, the crowd mostly older people. It was quiet but bright and lively with old fashioned booths that Jack could appreciate. Plus there was a deer head hung and Jack passed time admiring it while he waited for Brock to arrive. 

The waitress was a stout older lady who called him ‘honey’ and said to shout when his friend came. He was looking at the eyes wondering if they were hand made (it was a very well done piece, Jack could learn from the taxidermist who had done it) when a guy stepped in. He had incredible bone structure, dark hair hair styled up. He rubbed his palms against his thighs as he looked around and Jack assumed this was Brock. Swallowing dryly, Jack raised his hand to get his attention. 

The guy looked a bit relieved as he made his way over. Jack quickly slid out of the booth to shake his hand properly. “I’m Jack.” 

“I’m Brock.” 

The formalities over with, they slid back into the booth, face to face. “It’s great to meet you,” Brock said quickly. “I… Clint had good things to say about you. Or, I guess his girlfriend.” 

“Nat, yeah. She said… Well, she said that Clint said you were a good guy and that,” Jack swallowed unsure about bringing it up so soon. “That we’re interested in the same sorta...stuff.” 

Brock got noticeably uncomfortable before he took a breath and said, “I’m a lepidopterologist. It means that I collect butterflies. But...not alive butterflies. And I, uhm, hang them on my walls.” 

Jack blinked. “That’s it?” Brock looked a bit offended so he quickly corrected himself, “I mean… I dabble in taxidermy, it’s my favorite hobby.” 

Brock’s eyes flickered upwards. “Really?” 

Jack fiddled with the silverware. “Really.” 

“That’s so neat.” 

Jack was fairly certain he had misheard. Brock was smiling though and not the tight forced ones he got when he told people. “It is?”

“Well, it’s preservation. Taking something beautiful and making it beautiful forever.” 

Jack found ease in that statement, that this wasn’t just polite conversation, that he, dare he say, understood. “Do you collect?” 

“No, I’m more of a butterfly person but I wouldn’t object to buying some one day. Something pretty.” 

“Like a bird?” 

“Hey,” Brock smiled. “That’s a good idea. Yeah, a bird.” 

“I, uh, I’ve been working on birds lately.” Jack had gotten so good at not oversharing in fear of turning people off of him. 

“What kinds?”

“Currently I’m working on a mallard duck,” Jack said and from there conversation flowed easily. 

He told Brock how he’d gotten into it and what his recent projects were. Brock in turn told him about pinning butterflies and the care, precise work hit home with him. They talked over burgers, Brock telling him about his shining piece, a rare Indian butterfly that he commented he’d need to show Jack someday. That brought a mountain of relief to him because he was really enjoying talking to Brock about all the things no one else understood. He was glad there was a later. 

When their meal concluded Brock and Jack exchanged phone numbers and bid each other goodbye in opposite cabs. 

Sitting in the back of his own cab Jack stared at his cellphone, still star struck that the night had happened. 

Maybe there really was someone out there for him and maybe he had just met him.


End file.
